


At the End

by thecookiemomma



Category: NCIS
Genre: Character Death, NFA Challenge Response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for NFA's "The Last Word" challenge.  Future fic.   Jethro reminisces on his life over the many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End

Shannon had been first, obviously. She and Kelly had died young, while he was away. They died trying to serve justice, the Mistress he had served for most of his life. _It was kind of ironic,_ he thought, watching the day lengthen into long shadows, _he had lost his most precious loves to Her, but ended up serving Her with every fiber of his being for years._

 

_Technically_ , he chastised himself, _Shannon and Kelly_ _ **hadn't**_ _been first._ His momma had. It was one thing he'd shared with Tony, one part of their unshakable bond of brotherhood. Both men had lost their mothers early on, the events shaping both them, and the men who'd been left to raise them. He sighed, running an old, gnarled hand through his hair. Anne Gibbs had been a hell of a woman. From the memories he could actually remember these days, she seemed a proud, strong woman, unafraid to stand up to his dad and tell him to sit down and shut up. He chuckled. That was a good thing. Jack needed that kind of a partner. He understood a lot more of where Jack had been coming from, now that he had gotten so old. Jethro still wasn't as garrulous as his old man, but he had been known to tell a couple stories when the time was right. He did give kids glares when they rolled by on those new scooter things. _Damn things were loud._

 

He returned to his first train of thought. First was his mom. Then, his girls. Then, a succession of Marines he'd served with and agents (and adjuncts) he'd worked alongside. Old Magnus' death stood out in his mind, because he'd been there. The old man had sat down in his chair in Autopsy and fallen asleep over his notes, never to wake up again. He thought that would be a pretty good way to go, now that he'd gotten as old as Doc Magnus was. 

 

When he was younger, he was sure he wanted to die guns blazing, eyes bright with piss and vinegar, life surging through his veins. But now that he'd reached his old age, he knew he'd much prefer to die sitting in this old chair, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He snorted. He hadn't had bourbon in ages. Hadn't been downstairs, either. Just seemed like so much work. 

 

Again, he refocused his thoughts. He remembered Kate. Kate had been a good agent. She'd been full of life, a rascal and a good friend. He still got angry over the bastard that had killed her, but he could easily remember quick moments: her eyes alight with fire when she'd gotten a lead, or her efficiency with a firearm when they'd ran the lead down. 

 

Pacci had been a good agent too. He remembered one night when their two teams had worked together on a case, and they had gone out to the local cop bar afterward. He'd sat next to the man, teasing him about this blonde who'd sauntered by, and damn, if Pacci hadn't blushed like a school boy. He chuckled, lost in the memory, the bygone days more real than the dreary moment-to-moment shit he dealt with now. Now, it was all pill bottles and processed food, people coming to check on him and make sure he was still breathing. He wasn't sure if they were on second or third generation anymore. He lost count.  _ Sure were having babies much younger these days. _ It was a stereotypical thought, but he knew there was a reason the stereotypes were there. 

 

Diane had been a hard loss, too. He still felt responsible for her death, still lifted a glass in her honor from time to time. It wasn't bourbon anymore, but the sentiment was the same. He and Tobias had commiserated, or had until the bastard had died last year. 

 

He'd had a solid team for a long time. Ducky, Abby, Tony, Tim. Ziva'd been there until she wasn't, and then Bishop filled in. It had worked. Then, the hammer started falling there, too. Shortly after his dad had passed, or maybe it'd been years, he wasn't sure anymore, Ducky's heart had given out again. It was eerie how similar Ducky's death had been to Magnus'. Maybe it was something about the autopsy room. After working alongside Death for years, maybe He just walked you home with a smile. 

 

He sure as hell hoped so. 

 

Then, Tony had caught a bronchial infection that he couldn't kick. Jethro reached up, wiping a tear from his eyes, frustrated at himself for getting maudlin. But he needed to remember. It'd been all blue lights and oxygen machines again, and he'd never been more afraid in his life. Apparently with good reason. Tony didn't make it through the infection, and the team was heartbroken. Jethro didn't come out of the basement for almost a week after losing the man he considered a brother-in-arms, maybe even just a  _ brother _ . Heaven knew the man had known him better than almost anyone. 

 

He'd kept going, though, and finally, he'd been forced to retire. He'd built things, furniture, boats, doll houses and toys, whatever people wanted and were willing to pay him for. That'd been good, hard work, too, and he'd made enough from it to keep himself alright. Then, his hand had slipped, and he'd had to give  _ that  _ up too. 

 

Jethro was brought out of his musings by the sound of the door opening. “Hey, Boss,” Tim's voice had deepened a little with age, but he was still there. 

 

Jethro nodded to him. “What'cha got, McGee?” His words were so like the demand he'd give them in the bullpen that both he and Abby, who was trailing behind him, stopped, and chuckled. 

 

“There's our Silver Fox,” Abby smiled, stepping over to press a soft kiss to his temple. “Brought you some Jambalaya. I know you like mine, and I made some. Too much for myself and Bert. Well, McGee had some too. Delilah's off on a jaunt again.” Abby was protecting him, he knew, but at this point, he could only shake his head at the irony. _Kids. What were you gonna do?_

 

“Thank you, Abs.” He shifted a little, hoping to sit up a little more. His limbs were heavy, and he sighed. “McGee. A little help?” 

 

“Yeah, Boss.” Tim reached around him with a strong arm and shifted him in the seat. “Boss, I have had the most annoying day. I swear. I think I understand you when you said you'd want to shoot politicians. Thank goodness for Fer.” Tim's assistant had called herself Jenny, but none of them seemed to want to stick with that, especially in the Director's office. So, she'd been rechristened Fer without any grumbling, and everyone was happier. 

 

“Told ya. You didn't, though?” Gibbs didn't need to know the whole story, just that his kids were okay. 

 

“Yeah, Boss. I kept my cool.” Tim smirked, sitting down beside his easy chair and giving him a very familiar glare. “You haven't been doing the exercises we left, have you?” 

 

“Haven't had the strength.” He lifted the spoon, eating slowly, enjoying the burn of the soup – both chemical and physical – on his tongue. “Damn good, Abs. Just like always.” 

 

“Thank you, Gibbs.” Her voice had lowered a little too. And her clothes were much more subdued. She wore her hair up in a bun, and though there were tasteful little skulls and a dusting of glitter on her blouse, it was definitely much more 'court style' than she'd ever worn when he was there. 

 

“You okay, Abs?” He couldn't stop himself from asking. 

 

“Yeah, Gibbs, I'm alright. Worried about you, but that's nothing new.” Gibbs grunted, knowing the truth of that. 

 

“Just so dammed tired.” He closed his eyes, letting his spoon drop back into the bowl. 

 

“Well, we'll get going then. Sleep well, Gibbs.” He knew that McGee was shooting Abby a look to keep her quiet, because he felt a soft kiss against his cheek, and then heard them walk out the door again, taking the rest of the soup with them, quarreling like the siblings they'd become. He felt himself being pulled into sleep, but this time, there was something deeper, something _real_ as he passed from waking to sleeping. 

 

Then, he heard a voice. “Hey, Boss. We've been waiting. We drew straws to see who'd get to meet you. But you remember that old trick with the . . .” 

 

“DiNozzo.” He didn't so much as bark, as just call out his name in wonder. “Hey, Tony,” He grasped his hand, and Tony pulled him into a hug. 

 

“C'mon, Boss. Got a whole party of people that need to see you. Well, they don't _need_ to see you, but they really want to.” Tony grinned, and Gibbs was amazed to see that he looked young and strong, much like he had when they met in Baltimore. He looked down at his own hands, expecting to see the same old, gnarled things he'd seen a moment ago. Instead, he saw young, strong hands, from when he'd been in the Corps. He snorted. “Yeah, I know. Pretty weird, huh? No more bad lungs here. Nice. Now, c'mon. Race ya!” 

 

Tony took off, and Gibbs was about to comment that he couldn't move that fast anymore. But then, he realized he probably could, and ran after him, following his 'brother' home. 

 

As he ran, a quote from one of those crazy books he'd read to Abby's kids came into his mind. It definitely fit. "And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life." 

 

He laughed, and ran on. 


End file.
